I came. I saw. I ate all the pastries.

Back from Europe with a new obsession

On The Cusp is about becoming the next version of ourselves. That means experimenting with the breadth of our interests, exploring the depths of anything that captures our imagination, and learning to embrace uncertainty along the way.

Welcome! This is letter #62.

It was the first morning that we weren’t debilitated by jet lag, and we celebrated by walking a mile west into Edinburgh’s Haymarket neighborhood, straight into a restaurant that used to be a bank. In a few hours, formal lunch service would begin at The Palmerston; until then, the space was moonlighting as a café.

We walked up to the counter to order.

On the left were crusty boules and oil-slicked squares of focaccia; on the right, laminated pastry dough finessed into a variety of alluring shapes. The patient, bespectacled man behind the counter identified each one for us: pain au raisin, pain au chocolat, pain suisse. There was a classic croissant, too, pulled from the oven once its exterior resembled burnished gold.

Then I saw it: a perfect circle of croissant dough filled high with pastry cream, adorned with three perfect blackberries—or as they’re known in Scotland, brambles—with a dusting of delicate crumble topping.

Bramble danish from The Palmerston

It was settled. “I’ll take one of those,” I told him.

We grabbed a carafe of water, two glasses, and waited for a smiling young woman to carry espresso drinks to the table we’d chosen.

Americano in hand, I assessed my pastry choice. It felt like spotting Jon Hamm at a dive bar: so gorgeous I couldn’t figure out how to approach it. Primly, I tugged away the outermost flake of pastry and popped it into my mouth, where it promptly melted.

My boyfriend, who has the attitude of a New Yorker despite having left there in toddlerhood, set down his latte and raised an eyebrow. “Just eat the damn thing,” he said.

So I did. I picked it up and bit squarely into it, sending shards spilling onto the plate below. My taste buds burst into song as they identified each distinct note: the buttery flakes, the bed of bramble jam, the pillows of blackberry-infused cream. Unlike most American breakfast pastries I’ve gambled on, not a single element was too sweet.

I finished chewing, which allowed me enough time to gather my thoughts—I wanted to make sure I wasn’t overstating things.

“This is the best pastry I’ve ever tasted,” I told him with the bright and moderately unhinged countenance of someone newly obsessed.

Before I arrived in Edinburgh, I read

Justine Doiron

’s food-centric recap of her trip. That’s where I learned about Lannan, the Scottish bakery that was awarded La Liste’s Pastry Opening of the Year Award—yes, that’s a global prize—this past summer.

I’m not one for waiting in long lines if I can help it, but Lannan warranted an exception to my personal rule.

I assumed that a bakery owner who’d earned such accolades must have toiled at their craft for decades—and adopted a dour look from the seriousness of the effort. But Darcie Maher, who trained at The Palmerston before striking out on her own, opened Lannan at age 24. And glimpsing her auburn hair and friendly smile made me do a double-take, as if I’d accidentally looked in the mirror instead of at her headshot in a newspaper write-up.

As my vacation days ticked by, I noticed that I hadn’t clocked many iPhone photos of my (gorgeous) surroundings. Instead, my camera roll was full of badly-lit pastry porn, snapshots I took to remind myself what I’d eaten: an Amalfi lemon tart with toasted meringue and lemon leaf oil. A pain suisse with pistachio and white chocolate. A spicy ’nduja and fermented honey bun topped with a mountain of shaved Murcia al Vino cheese.

Sample wares from Lannan

When I wrote about long trips being the kind that “birth lasting obsessions,” I wasn’t kidding.

Soon, my notes app was bursting with scribbles about standout pastries I’d eaten—all the details of their flavors, textures, and adornments. And when I got my nails done the following week in Amsterdam, I chatted with customers and employees about which bakeries were worth visiting and which weren’t worth the hype.

While in Edinburgh, I visited the Stockbridge neighborhood twice in the gray pre-dawn—once with an umbrella in hand—to join the happy, buzzing crowd of customers awaiting Lannan’s opening.

As I stood in line, a thought crossed my mind: if Darcie was a self-taught baker and pastry chef who could make viennoiserie that had me reconsidering all my life choices, maybe it wasn’t too late for me to follow her lead.

Last Saturday, I laced up my sneakers, grabbed a canvas bag, and stepped out into the crisp autumn air. I was back home in my pedestrian-unfriendly neighborhood, newly accustomed to walking six-plus miles a day in Europe and sorely in need of a made-up errand.

I set out for the farmers market.

The morning fog stuck close to the ground, with only the hazy suggestion of sunlight glimmering through the mist. Dew-kissed spiderwebs graced the emptiness between tree branches. My feet crunched through fallen leaves as I wiggled my numb fingers for warmth.

At the market, I zeroed in on the only bakery selling Scandinavian-style buns—the barely sweet, cardamom-scented kind that were everywhere in Europe but in short supply stateside.

Back at home, nose still red from the cold, I mustered up all my courage and sent the bakery an email. I didn’t have commercial baking experience, I admitted, but I was trainable and detail-oriented and fun to be around. Could they use any help?

This morning, as you read these words, that’s where you’ll find me: at my first bakery shift, filling and twisting breakfast buns destined for the farmers market, quietly taking the first tiny step from obsession to action.

Are you following along with my year of pizza on YouTube? Here’s the latest installment of the In Depth Cookbook Club. ⬇️

Unfortunately, as the thumbnail indicates, one person was harmed during the making of this video!

Don’t worry—we recovered in time to finish this Roasted Butternut Squash Pizza with Gruyère and Sage (p. 106) and the Classic Kale Salad with Pepper Flakes, Parmesan, and Lemon Vinaigrette (p. 108) from 

Alexandra Stafford

’s wonderful cookbook Pizza Night.

As always, I’d love to hear from you. What’s captured your imagination lately?

Warmly,
Maddie